


Caught me before I hit the ground

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Meetings, Harassment, M/M, Smoking, omega Brock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock’s having a bad day and some Alpha makes it worse. Thankfully a handsome stranger steps in.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	Caught me before I hit the ground

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a scene in Kingdom
> 
> Title from Take Me Home by Jess Glynne

It’s been one of those days. The kind of day where every single goddamn thing that could possibly go wrong, goes wrong. A flat tire on the way to work, a busted coffee machine in the break room, an impromptu staff meeting putting Brock even further behind on the expense reports than he already was, followed by being called into his boss’s office about said reports being wrong because of a stupid fucking marginal miscalculation.

So when Brock steps into the bar he wants one thing and one thing only: to erase this day from memory with copious amounts of booze. It’s not too busy yet, and Brock grabs a stool at the bar. The bartender lays down his usual: a beer and a shot of vodka. He tosses back the vodka first, a warming sear down this throat, and then chases it with a swallow of icy beer. Then he sits back and watches whatever bullshit sports are playing tonight.

It is a good bar; no one dynamic held the majority of patrons. Brock found the omega catered bars too catty and the music was always atrocious. Beta bars weren’t bad socially but they were always a bit dull and getting hard liquor was nothing short of impossible. Alpha bars? Forget about it. Unless Brock is looking to get fucked there is no reason for an omega to ever be surrounded by that many Alphas. 

But this place is different and Brock loves that. 

Around him others start to trickle in. Fresh off work and ready to slide into the weekend with a few too many beers. Brock is one of them. He’s finishing his second beer when he feels the heat of another body directly behind him. For a minute he hesitates, considers turning around to see who is invading his personal space. Then his eyes flicker upwards and he remembers that the house special board is mounted there. 

So he tolerates it. For a few minutes. 

“You look like you’re having a hard day.”

The body moves to his right and Brock glances over. An Alpha. He sighs quietly. “No thanks.”

Brock brings the bottle to his lips. The Alpha barks out a laugh, but it’s humorless and a bit scorning. 

“You’re too pretty to be this bitchy. Is that beer? How about I get you something a little more fitting and we chat a little.” The Alpha waves his hand in the air to call the bartender. She comes over, already eyeing Brock. “I’d like to buy this little thing something pink and sweet.”

“There ain’t much pink or sweet about me, asshole.” There wasn’t an open spot anywhere else, a couple had just claimed the last two. “Kindly fuck off.”

The bartender is still off, fixing whatever pink cocktail omegas are expected to drink. Brock doesn’t know what else he expected, this was the sad truth of being an omega. Doing something so basic as getting a few drinks is viewed as an invitation. 

“Fuck off? Oof, that kinda talk out of a mouth so pretty is a real shame.” 

Brock blows out a heated breath and palms a pack of menthols from his pocket. It’s just Brock’s luck he left his lighter in the car. 

“Gotta lighter?”

“It just so happens I do. Must be fate pulling us together.”

Brock scoffs but holds out the cigarette. He can't wait to tell this asshole where to shove it; he just needs some nicotine first. With it lit he brings the filter to his lips and takes a deep drag. Immediately his pulse slows and his nerves settle. Then a hand rests on his thigh and the bartender sets down an offensive rose hued drink with a tacky purple umbrella. Brock can smell the sugar and he’s fairly certain there wasn’t more than one shot in the entire monstrosity. 

“I don’t want your drink.” Brock blows out the smoke and then takes another drag before he says, “And get your fucking hands off me.”

“Still so fiesty.” The hand creeps up his thigh and Brock’s patience thins even further. “I’m being so nice to you, don’t be rude.”

The hand slips down to his inner thigh and Brock’s all out of patience. Brock takes one last deep drag, pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and pressed the lit end against his hand.

The reaction is immediate. The Alpha shouts, nearly toppling over the stool as he jerks away. The conversation quiets as everyone looks at the disturbance. Brock nudges the pink drink back towards the bartender and examines the end of his cigarette. It is fully extinguished and Brock sighs. 

Yet another disappointment in this awful day. 

“You fucking little bitch!”

Brock turns and sees the Alpha properly. He’s big and burly and Brock knows the Alpha intends on retaliating and that it’s going to hurt. But then there’s another Alpha, taller but leaner who steps in front of him and shoves him back into one of the tall tables. The people sitting there leap out of the way in time for it to topple over sending perfectly good nachos and fresh beers to the floor. 

“Don’t fucking touch him.”

The Alpha on the floor is temporarily tangled up in the table legs but once he’s free he squares off. “That little cunt fucking burned me!”

“And you deserved it. He clearly wasn’t interested but you weren’t taking the hint.”

Brock is the absolute last omega who bought into the white knight bullshit but he is satisfied if nothing else. There’s a stare down and Brock rolls his eyes turning back to his beer. Alpha displays were exhausting. 

“Fuck you both then. That ice cold bitch is gonna die old, fat and ugly.”

“And this ice cold bitch is going to enjoy it.” Brock raises his beer in a faux toast and the Alpha growls as he stalks out of the bar.

Slowly talk resumes and the bartender takes back the drink with an apologetic look. He stares down at this cigarette, a bit squashed at the end but certainly salvageable and wishes he had a lighter. 

“Need a light?”

Brock recognizes the smooth whiskey voice, so he turns to scrutinize him. He’s clearly come from a labor job, pants and shirt smeared with what Brock thinks is spackle. He smells it on him a bit, even with the muddled scents of everyone else in the bar. It should revolt him, his asshole father always had a hint of that scent on him because he did construction. But it doesn’t. 

The Alpha has a scar that stands out prominently with the heavy five o’clock shadow on his face. His eyes were green and his hair was slicked back. 

“That’d be nice.”

Brock holds out the cigarette and the Alpha lights it, and then one of his own. 

“I’m not some damsel in distress.” 

“Didn’t think you were. A damsel wouldn’t have put their smoke out on someone pissing them off.”

Brock notes the Alpha hadn’t invited himself to sit and he likes it. He was far from the traditional type of omega. Brock watched him take a drag, the tip glowing furiously red before he blew out the plume of smoke. 

“I’m Jack by the way.”

Brock sucks on his teeth. He knows he could tell this Alpha to leave him alone and that he actually will. But knowing that makes Brock want him to stay. 

“I’m Brock.” He notices that Jack’s seat has been claimed so he says, “Mind if I buy you a drink as a thank you?”

He looks surprised. “I’ve never turned down a free drink.”

Jack sits beside him and Brock doesn’t feel as defensive as usually does. He’s not scooting over as far as possible so he doesn’t have to breathe in that awful Alpha musk they got when posturing. It’s comfortable. 

“What’s your poison?”

“I’m a simple man.” Jack pulls the astray between them closer, flicking off ash before he takes another drag. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

Brock’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. Now he’s said it Brock can attest that yes, he looks like a bourbon man. It shouldn’t make him notice the way Jack’s biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt, but he does. And as Jack brings the cigarette back to his lips he notices his long slender fingers. 

Brock orders the drink and a beer for himself and then...they talk. Brock’s guess is correct, he’s a contractor in the area for some new condos being built. He seems to care about the droll day Brock’s been having and says that shit days make the best stories. Brock figures that almost getting the shit kicked out of him by an Alpha counts. 

It’s funny how time passes when you’re talking, Brock things when the bartender reminds them it’s near closing. Brock is buzzed, not yet drunk enough to be stupid but he knows what he wants. Jack pays despite his insistence otherwise and says he can get the check next time. Brock really wants a next time. But he also wants a tonight. 

“Wanna get outta here?” Brock asks sliding down from the stool. 

Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he expected because he stumbles. Thankfully Jack catches him and it gives Brock a chance to get a good scent of him. Pine trees, campfires and sage. 

“You have my number, call me if you’re still interested tomorrow.”

Brock scoffs at that but somehow ends up an Uber heading home. He stares down at his phone, Jack’s name sitting there. He hits the option message and writes, ‘is this your real number’.

It’s not a minute later when it chimes. 

Jack: it is. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow

Brock smiles and leans his head back. Maybe his day isn’t complete shit after all.


End file.
